


mythos

by atlas (songs)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Implied Killua/Gon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs/pseuds/atlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He often leaves by sundown, during these strange appearances. Many townsfolk wonder if he’s a ghost. A spirit. <i>Capture him in a bottle, keep him for luck.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	mythos

Modern lore, these days, is quite odd. As it were, there’s a popular story, recently woven, of a strange boy who frequents fishing villages. Now, fish has never been a scarcity in this world, but fishing  _villages_  are surprisingly rare. Clams and pearls are island-fare; most of the coastlines on the main-land are mist-heavy with factories and Nen. 

 _Jenny aren’t sirens, you won’t find them underwater._ Even so, scant as they may be, there are still a few fishing towns, surviving to this day, rich with salt— and palaces of it— but not with much else. And then, comes the boy— a fairy-fable with legs. Pale-haired, almost unassuming. Wears a white raincoat, which gleams silver under a certain brand of light. Never asks for a room, or food. Only appears during lightning storms, which always seem to end once he stops by.

 _They say he does Nen-tricks for free,_ the locals murmur,  _he patches roof-tops, protects villages from wayward rain._

His only request:  _May I fish?_ You see, beneath the cloak, he carries a bent, brittle-looking fishing rod. Yellow, and poppy-red— a burst of summer.

He often leaves by sundown, during these strange appearances. Many townsfolk wonder if he’s a ghost. A spirit. Capture him in a bottle, keep him for luck. But there’s little news of him on the islands; in fact, it appears he goes out of his way to avoid them. A mother says her child once watched him trace whale-shapes in the sand. She’d wondered if he had a home there, at some point, way out in the isles, surrounded by forests, fish and fruit.

The boy always leaves all his catches in nets, a gift to the village markets. Then he disappears without a trace. Some claim that he kept personal trinkets, besides the rod. A girl’s hairclip, a stuffed toy. Two Hunter-licenses, old and chipped at the edges. But no one can say for certain. And no one has seen him twice. The strange, storm-boy from nowhere.  _Do not speak to him, only of him. He will protect, but he won’t return._

Lightning does not strike the same spot twice.


End file.
